


Lipstick And Lekku

by ryl00



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Embarrassment, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-21
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryl00/pseuds/ryl00
Summary: KOTOR LSM Revan. What started out as a simple lekku soak turns into a minor dilemma for Mission. Silly slapstick between Mission and Bastila. Sort of prequel to Carth's Blaster. [Originally posted to FFN in 2010]





	1. Chapter 1

Mission sighed in relief as she leaned her head back onto the pillow, letting her lekku slip into the hot water of the pan that lay above the pillow, at the head of her bunk.

There was the brief flash of pain as her skin stirred the hot water (“What are you trying to do, cook your tails?” Jolee had once quipped as he’d witnessed a past performance), and then that delightfully dreadful anticipation of the transition was over and waves of heat diffused into her head.

 _Ah, the simple joys of life_ , she thought to herself.  The weariness of another day soaked out into the water, in a quite pleasant haze of fuzzy warmth that swaddled her brain like a blanket.

She closed her eyes, willing that moment of pleasure to last forever. But of course it didn't... it never did.  The almost painfully hot water would turn mildly hot, then warm, then tepid, and then before you knew it, it was time to towel off and watch Big Z polish his bowcaster some more.

Of limited duration it may have been, but it was certainly one of the rare things that was actually pleasant about the otherwise tedious life she led aboard the _Ebon Hawk_. She could count on her hand the number of times in the fourteen years of her life that she'd actually had the opportunity to bask in the glory of lekku soaking, lying on a soft bed, with not a care in the Galaxy, back on Taris. And here she was, doing this almost every night! It was almost becoming... dare she even think the thought?... banal! Boring!

And that was the ultimate root of the problem, of the otherwise idyllic life she’d suddenly found herself thrust into. Boredom.

_And to think, there was once a time I actually wished to be away from Taris, to visit the Galaxy!  See all the sights!  The ancient, massive forests of Kashyyyk!  The pristine, sparkling blue oceans of Manaan!  The desolate, windswept glory of Tatooine!_

_If I’d known I’d be stuck for days at a time in hyperspace, with nothing better to do than watch Jedi contemplate their navels, I’d have grabbed Big Z and run the other way when I first saw Enosh and Carth back at Javyar’s cantina._

A small part of her tried to remind herself that Javyar’s cantina was now most likely a smoking ruin in the sea of molten slag that much of Taris’ devastated surface now was, but it was more fun to let her outrage at the ennui of space travel lead her where it wished to go.

Sure, it was safe here.  She wasn't on the run from law enforcement (as she’d perpetually seemed to be back on Taris, but she blamed that mostly on the general snootiness of the Upper City denizens (and besides, who’d given _them_ the right to make all the laws?), rather than any lack of character on _her_ part), or the various shady characters that naturally formed the foci of the world of the Lower City (Griff’s surprisingly large number of questionable activities were to blame there).  But she was also stuck here, talking to the same old people, rehashing the same old conversations.

_If I hear Carth complaining about the broken emergency lights in the cargo hold one more time, or Bastila going on and on about making Padawan at fourteen so how come I don’t go to school anymore and ‘make’ something of myself..._

She dropped that line of thought before it could ruin a perfectly nice lekku soaking.

The planets they visited were a welcome relief from the boredom, but then everyone got so serious it was hardly any fun at all.  Dancing oh-so-delicately between the Black Vulkars, the Hidden Beks, and all the other swoop gangs; visiting the Outcasts despite the threat of the rakghouls; running with Griff on the edges of the waves created by the massive power figures like Davik Kang and Zax; thumbing her nose at every opportunity at the ‘lords’ of the Upper City and the Sith occupation force...might have been nerve-racking at the time, but surely the fear had been outweighed by the sheer excitement, hadn’t it?  The thrill of the nervous, excited energy of the bustling, ever-busy crowds of Taris?

But thoughts of Taris inevitably led to thoughts of the massive destruction that had been visited upon the planet’s surface.  She could try to lose herself in memories of her past life back on Taris, painting a picture that she had to admit was probably prettier than it should have been, but all her reminiscing would not bring it back from ruin.

It was terrible, all those lives lost. And had it not been for that chance encounter with Enosh and Carth in Javyar’s cantina, she might very well not even be around to think about how fortunate she was to still be around.

Her mind contorted a bit on that last thought, before she gave up and moved on.

_I can mourn for all those lost, and still aspire for something more for my life than revenge and sadness, can’t I? Still acknowledge the seriousness of our quest... and enjoy life and living while I’m doing it, can’t I?_

_Otherwise, I'll end up like Bastila, all serious-minded and cranky all the time. And what would be the fun of that?_

She heard the door to the dormitory open, and lifted her head slightly to see Bastila walk in.


	2. Chapter 2

_Perhaps I’m bonded to her as well, and she’s bound to attend to me at the merest mention of her in my thoughts_ , she thought as she rested her head back onto the pillow, closing her eyes.  _Or, much more likely, perhaps she’s just showing up to punish me for thinking ill of her.  But if that were the case, she’d never leave my side!_

She heard footsteps approaching, and a shadow fell across her.  She opened her eyes to see the Jedi sentinel looking down at her.

“Yes?” she asked, starting slightly.  _It’s just a coincidence, right?  They can’t really read minds... can they?_

“What are you doing?” Bastila asked.

_Stay out of my mind!_ she was about to blurt out, when she noticed that the Jedi’s attention was firmly focused on her lekku.

_Oh.  Whew!  I’m being silly!_

As the Jedi was studying Mission’s lekku-soaking, the immobilized Twi’lek had an opportune time to study her observer.  For someone who was constantly going on and on about the uplifting qualities of the ascetic minimalism of the Jedi, Bastila certainly knew how to take care of herself.  She’d never seen the Jedi with a hair out of place, or her clothes disheveled, or her face looking anything but perfect, even in the midst of battle (and there’d certainly been plenty of that lately, in no small part due to the presence of said Jedi).  Mission had known quite a few upper-class escorts back on Taris, and Bastila would have put all of them out of business with her refined, patrician bearing and elegance.  _Good thing I’m not human; otherwise what I’m feeling right now might be considered jealousy._

“Oh, I was feeling a bit peckish,” she replied, inwardly grinning at the thought of the Jedi as a glittering, bejeweled call girl, draped across the shoulders of some fabulously wealthy, portly Tarisian ale merchant.  “So I decided to soften up my lekku so I can gnaw a little bit off the ends there.  Interested in joining me for a little snack before bedtime?”

A quick flash of exasperation crossed Bastila’s face.

“Don’t worry; it’s just like fingernails... it’ll grow back.”  She languidly flicked her lekku in the hot currents of the water.

Bastila pursed her lips in faint disapproval.  “Really, Mission.  Is every question an invitation to levity for you?”

_Tough crowd,_ her lekku signaled, swimming in the water.  “Even that one?”

She came very close to rolling her eyes, then seemed to remember herself and settled for a slight sigh.  “So is this how you spend your nights, lying on your back with your head in a pan full of water?” she soldiered on.

“Yes,” Mission replied, knowing where the Jedi was headed with this.  Dogged stubbornness in the face of the blatant disinterest of whomever was listening to her was one ‘quality’ in which Bastila had no peer.

“And you don’t feel any... spur to do otherwise?”

_Right on target._

“You mean an inner restlessness, a dissatisfaction with things as they are?  The gnawing feeling that something is missing in my life, that precious time is slipping by?”

Bastila blinked in surprise.  “Actually, yes.”

“No, not really.  I guess you were right, Bastila; I _do_ think every question is an invitation for levity.”

Bastila really wanted to roll her eyes upward, and make a silent plea to the Galaxy:  _What have I done to deserve this?!_   Mission could tell, and couldn’t help but grin inside at Bastila’s discomfort at fighting her own instincts.  _Jedi gatherings must be loads of fun, what with everyone standing around trying to out-frown each other; no wonder Jolee quit!_

Instead, she settled for that long-suffering little sigh of hers, and sat down on the bedside beside Mission.

Now it was Mission’s turn to sigh to herself, as the bunk bounced her.  _When will I ever learn?  It’s all well and good when my mouth runs away from me, but now look what it’s done to me!  I’m trapped!_

But instead of talking, Bastila just looked at Mission.

As the seconds passed, and the silence lingered on, she started to squirm inside, and her lekku stirred the water in sympathetic agitation.  _I hate when she does this!_

“What?” she asked finally, breaking the pregnant silence.

“Can we be serious for a moment?”

“I think you’re being serious enough for the both of us.  For the entire ship, in fact.”

She just looked at Mission with those piercing eyes of hers.

“Oh, come on, Bastila!  No matter what I do right now—stick my nose in a book, or stare at the wall for hours on end—the _Ebon Hawk_ isn’t going to fly any faster _or_ slower.  The combined might of our long-ranging frowning isn’t going to slow down Darth Malak or the Sith one iota, now is it?  So what harm is there in lying down here, relaxing?  You do it all the time, meditating all the time like you do.”

This elicited a response.  “I am _not_ relaxing when I am meditating, Mission,” she said, drawing back slightly, defensively.  “I am concentrating on sharpening my focus, gathering my energies, contemplating what we’ve been through and what still lies ahead of us,” she explained, her hands fluttering through the air.  Noticing Mission’s attention on her hands, she clamped them firmly together, and closed her eyes.  “Finding my center, the stillness within, amid the turbulence of life,” she said serenely.

“In other words, sleeping!”

Bastila’s eyes snapped open.  “Not quite, no.”

“Oh, come on!  You mean to tell me that you’ve never fallen asleep whenever you go find wherever you put your center the last time you saw it, ever?  Ever, ever, _ever_?  Even if it’s been a long, tough day, and your Master’s been on your case for gossiping in class, and you were up too late the night before?”

“I never ‘gossiped’ in class, as you put it.  I’m not irresponsible.”  She could not have looked more disapproving (and Mission had quickly become an expert at this, having already been the focus of said disapproval on multiple occasions).

“You should try it sometime; it’s quite liberating.  Which reminds me, have you heard about Juhani and Belaya?  I was walking down the corridor when I _just_ happened to hear--”

“You mean sneaking.”

“What?”

“Sneaking.  What you imagine to uncover by catching others by surprise or eavesdropping is beyond me.”

“I am _not_ sneaking.  Everyone else is just noisy compared to me.  And can I help it if my ears naturally pick up on the slightest of sounds?  Easier to ask me to rip them off my head, than to ask me to ignore what I hear.”

“Thank you for sharing that lovely image,” Bastila interjected.  “But we’re straying away from my main point.  You’re still young, you’ve got your whole future ahead of you--”

“And I strongly suspect it will still be there tomorrow morning, waiting for me when I wake up,” Mission responded, cutting Bastila off from where she always went whenever this particular topic came up.

“Procrastination saps the will, drains the energy and drive out of you.”

“Really?  I’ll look into that tomorrow, I swear.  Why are you jumping all over me right now, anyway?”

“What?”

“You come in here and start lecturing me without even a ‘how are you doing’.  Not that that’s all that unusual, but still--”

“I don’t ‘lecture’, Mission.”

_And I’m a wookiee’s uncle!_   “What happened?  Did you get into an argument with Canderous again?”

“This isn’t about me, this is about you,” she stated firmly.

“Or Enosh?  Was it Enosh?  Ooooh, I bet it was!”

A brittle, thin-lipped smile emerged on Bastila’s face.  “I see you’re not receptive to discussion right now,” she said, frigidly polite.  “I’ll leave you to your recreation then, Mission.”  And with that, she rose, smoothed down her shirt as if their conversation had left a disagreeable wrinkle upon it, and walked away.

_Finally!_ she thought, closing her eyes and trying to will the water’s soothing heat into her head.  _Now I can get down to some proper relaxation, and enjoy this as it was meant to be enjoyed!_

_Relax.  Relax._

_..._

_Blast it!  Blast that silly Bastila!  I can’t!_

She bent her head up slightly to see what the Jedi was up to.  She sat in the exact center of the dormitory floor, legs crossed, deep into another one of her meditation trances.

_Typical!  She gets me all riled up over something silly, taking it out on me just because Enosh is ignoring her again or whatever.  And now that that’s accomplished, and my tranquility is ruined, there she is enjoying some peace and quiet!  My peace and quiet!_

She tried, she really did try.  But the moment was gone, her thoughts would not slow down, and the water was turning colder and colder by the second.

“Fine,” she muttered out loud.  “Be that way.  I was getting bored, anyway.  But I am not going to do _anything_ productive!  Not even in the _slightest_!  Except perhaps remind myself to _always lock the door_.”

She glanced at Bastila, but if she took note of the pointed rejoinder, she made no sign of it.

She snatched a towel from the side table, rose to a sitting position, and gently dried her lekku, all the while glaring at Bastila’s still form.

But glaring did nothing except tire her eyes out.  Sighing, she rose up and walked over to the mirror to see how wrinkled her lekku had gotten.

A slight noise interrupted her.

_What?  What was that?  Could it have been?  A... snore?  The Jedi princess, the very paragon of the Order... snoring?_

All other thoughts quickly forgotten, she scrambled over to the Jedi’s side.

Bastila was used to having her around during her meditative sessions, so long as the Twi’lek was quiet (and that came naturally to her).  She should be able to do anything short of punching the Jedi in the face and not disturb her.

As she neared, her ears strained to hear another incriminating snore.  Cautiously, she crept closer and closer.  But to all appearances the Jedi was as still as always, and Mission heard nothing but the drone of the air scrubbers of the _Ebon Hawk_ ’s ventilation systems, and beneath that, the low frequency hum of the hyperdrive powering the ship along its way.

Half-crouching, she was now standing directly in front of Bastila.  She bent down further, her ears straining.

_Still nothing!  I can’t have been imagining it!_

Tentatively, she reached out a hand underneath the Jedi’s nose, trying to feel if any air was moving.

Someone knocked at the dormitory door behind her, startling Mission.  Her hand moved of its own accord, brushing against Bastila’s lips and cheek.

_Oops!_

Her eyes still closed, Bastila scowled in annoyance. Even worse, her perfectly composed face was now marred by a streak of lipstick Mission had inadvertently smeared across her right cheek.

The Jedi’s eyes opened, registering surprise at Mission’s nearness.

The Twi’lek laughed nervously, swiftly hiding her offending hand behind her back. “I thought you were asleep,” she grinned.

Bastila’s eyes flashed. “I told you I don’t sleep while I’m meditating.  And aren’t you going to answer that?”  



	3. Chapter 3

_Whatever you do, don’t look at it!_

But try as she might, her eyes kept zeroing in on that flaw, that slight smudge of pale scarlet that dared to traipse onto the alabaster smoothness of Bastila’s skin.

_How can she not notice?  How can she not sense the change on her skin?  Or the guilt that must be written across my face as I look at her?_

Time froze, and a strange sense of self-awareness overcame her.  The soft hum of the ship was like a roar in her ears, the harsh overhead light of the cabin gleamed off the metallic coldness of the floor.  One cold drop of water ran down her right lekku, to slide onto the back of her shirt.

She remembered the first time she’d ever felt this way, seen the world crystallize into painfully sharp detail around her, as if the entire Galaxy was holding its breath, waiting to see what she would do next.

She couldn’t have been more than four or five at the time, staring at some cheap, garish piece of sculpture sitting on a dusty shelf at Raranac’s run-down store, back on Taris.  She’d sensed her brother Griff move slightly next to her, and felt a tug on her arm as something fell into the fluffy pink toy purse she’d had slung across her shoulder.

She’d glanced down automatically, reflexively, into her purse, to see the furtive gleam of something shiny winking back at her from the shadows within, before Griff’s hands reached over to her and closed the purse tightly.

She’d looked at him, seen the urgent look in his eyes, the slight frown on his face, and time had stopped.  Dust motes seemed to hang in the air, transfixed in the dingy shafts of the sputtering overhead lights.  The measured ticking of some antique timepiece had ceased.  Her childhood had ended then and there, the two of them surrounded by the abandoned junk of the Upper City scavenged in the Lower, as the sudden realization had struck her that _this_ was how Griff had managed to take care of her all by himself for all those years, while she’d been playing with her dolls and dreaming of the sky.

Time had frozen then, and she’d made her choice.  She’d kept quiet, played along with Griff as they’d left Raranac’s, then watched silently as he’d sold that trinket for a pittance to Yused the fence, and never looked back.

_I should just tell her.  I should just tell her what happened.  She’ll be mad, but then again she’s always mad._

But even while that thought passed through her mind, she knew she was going to keep quiet.  Just like at Raranac’s, so long ago.

Bastila arched an eyebrow in puzzlement, and the moment was gone.  The bemusement lifted, and the present returned.

Smiling at the Jedi, she turned away and walked towards the door, shaking off the last vestiges of the past.  She didn’t have the time for introspection now.

_Please, let it not be Canderous!_ she pleaded silently as she reached out to open the door.

It was Juhani.

Her initial relief at not seeing the Mandalorian at the doorway quickly changed.  _She caught me eavesdropping!_   “I didn’t do it!”

About to speak a greeting, the Cathar started, her eyes widening slightly in surprise.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Mission added hurriedly, forcing out a nonchalant chuckle, stalling while her mind raced.  “I’m, uh, prone to these sudden outbursts.  Just like my poor... Aunt Cora, before they put her away in the mental ward.”

_What kind of brilliant reply was that?!_ she demanded sarcastically of herself, as she trailed off and put on a half-hearted grin in response to Juhani’s puzzled stare.

The Cathar studied her carefully.  Too methodical... she was too methodical.  Bastila was too single-minded to get distracted for long by things she considered irrelevant or insignificant... Mission knew how to handle her.  But Juhani always seemed to be quietly watchful, soaking in every last detail.

“That certainly would explain a lot,” Bastila said from behind Mission, as the Jedi rose.

_Oh, great.  I’ve sunk so far that even Bastila is scoring off of me!_

Nevertheless, she stepped aside as Bastila reached the doorway.

“Juhani,” Bastila greeted her fellow Jedi.  “Did you wish to speak with me?”

“Yes,” Juhani said.  “Bastila, I...”

The Cathar paused, her eyes widening slightly.

Mission forced her expression into bland disinterest as Juhani’s eyes glanced questioningly at her.

Bastila’s eyebrows quirked in slight puzzlement.  “Yes, Juhani?” she prompted.

“I--I--I was just—“ she licked her lips, her tongue surreptitiously flicking to her left to touch the corner of her mouth, “wondering if you had that article you mentioned?”

“Master Vandar's treatise on meditation? Yes, of course, it's in my datapad.  It’s so fascinating!  He’s put down in words things that I didn’t know I was feeling until I saw them in letters before me.  Truly a revelation I will not soon forget.”

_Typical_ , thought Mission.  _She’s excited to talk shop._

Juhani's tongue flicked out again, to her left.

The slight smile on Bastila’s lips froze, and her brows furrowed in curiosity.  “Is anything the matter, Juhani?”

“Actually, Bastila--I was wondering the same about you.”

“Me?” Bastila asked, reflexively raising a hand to her chest.

“So what happened out there?” Mission blurted out, finally breaking out of her trance as the conversation careened around threateningly.  “Bas came in here all cranky about something.”

“I am _not_ cranky,” Bastila said firmly.  “And you presume a familiarity with me which is not warranted.”

“You see?” Mission asked of Juhani.  “Anyone else would have given up a long time ago, but I still put myself through this, and for what?  So who did she get in a fight with?”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” the Cathar replied carefully, her eyes bouncing between her and Bastila.  Then to Bastila, “Do you want to look into--?”

“Oh, she’s fine, just fine!” Mission interrupted.  “Never felt better, isn’t that right, Bas?  Always a bit groggy coming out of a trance, am I right?”

Juhani looked at Mission with a puzzled expression on her face. “You know much about Jedi trances, do you?”

“Who doesn't? With four Jedi on board, how can you _not_ know about Jedi stuff?  I swear, it must be contagious or something, because just the other night I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or having a Vision!  Something about... light sabers... uh, the Force... Revan and Malak, of _course_ , what kind of a Vision would it be without _them_?... did you get that, too, Bas, last night?”

“Mission, please stop interrupting us,” Bastila said. “Juhani, my datapad is right over there; let me go get it for you.”

_Right over there... right next to the mirror!_

Quick as lightning, Mission jumped in front of Bastila and picked up the Jedi's datapad.

“Mission!” she gasped.

“Just trying to save you the effort, Bas,” she said hurriedly, offering the datapad to her. “Griff always told me to treat my elders with respect.”

“And you're just now actually listening to his advice?” Bastila replied, accepting the proffered datapad.

_So far.  I’ve sunk so far..._ “I would be wounded, if I didn’t have to put up with this all the time.  And after all we’ve been through, too!  All the times I’ve saved your life... and all the admittedly more numerous times you’ve saved mine, but who’s keeping score, anyway?”

As Bastila smiled and handed the datapad to Juhani, the dawning of understanding seemed to grow within the Cathar’s watchful eyes.

_Uh-oh._

Juhani synchronized her datapad with Bastila’s, then handed it back.  “It is hard, is it not, to resist the pull of the world outside?” Juhani ventured, glacning at the two of them.

_Surely, she doesn’t think....?_

“Yes, I agree,” Bastila said.  “Obviously, we cannot remain isolated from it.  But we can accept it in measured terms.”

“Accept it... but remain strong.”

Bastila nodded.

“Close confinement, continuous contact, has a way of breaking down barriers which should remain up.”

“Indeed.”

“Those that are nearest to us are both a source of strength and a vector of potential weakness.”

Juhani spared a glance in the Twi’lek’s direction.  Mission didn’t know what to do besides look blankly back.  _The lipstick... the sniping... she thinks she interrupted Bastila and me..._

“My very thoughts exactly,” Bastila said obliviously.  “We are in complete agreement.”

“Age matters.  Inexperience and innocence are boundaries which should not be crossed.”

“Indeed, Juhani.”  And now Bastila looked puzzled.

The Cathar’s face hardened, slightly.  “Mission is too young,” she said finally, bluntly.

Mission didn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until she felt the air force its way out.

Bastila blinked, confused.  “And so I’ve mentioned, time and time again,” she finally replied.

“And so I’ve heard, time and time again,” Mission added automatically.

Bastila ignored her.  “But it’s too late now, isn’t it?” she continued.  “It would be highly irresponsible to just leave her somewhere.”

“Hello, I’m in the room.  Did I just turn invisible or something?”

Juhani just stared at Bastila as if she’d gone mad.  She glanced at Mission, who shrugged slightly in response.

“I suppose I should be going now,” the Cathar finally said, confused.

“Take care,” Bastila said, her right hand half-raised, as the door closed behind Juhani.

Mission breathed a sigh of relief.  Juhani rivaled Big Z as far as taciturness went—surely, she wouldn’t tell anyone about what had happened, would she?

“Such pain, such turmoil.”

She started, as Bastila’s quiet voice broke the silence.

The Jedi stared at the door, her thoughts distant.  “She has opened herself up somewhat to Enosh--understandable enough, and a good sign.  But I am encouraged that I have been able to start drawing her out, as well.”

_Poor Juhani!  The more you open up, the more Bastila will view that as license to incorporate you into her lecture circuit._

“Still... that last exchange.  Something puzzles me about her,” Bastila mused aloud.

Reflexively, Mission murmurred, “Hmmmm?”

“Is she... is she _interested_ in me?”

 


	4. Chapter 4

It would truly have been disastrous if the incredulous laugh that reflexively came to Mission’s lips at Bastila’s question had actually emerged.  So it was fortuitous for the Twi’lek that someone chose that exact moment to knock on the door.

The sound of knuckles rapping on metal startled the Jedi out of her distant musings.  Sparing a quick, embarrassed glance at Mission as she belatedly realized she’d voiced her last thought aloud, Bastila cleared her throat hastily, then quickly moved forward to open the door.

It was Carth.

“Carth?” asked Bastila, obviously surprised.

“Expecting Juhani?” he asked.  “I just passed her in the hallway; she looked a little distracted.”  His eyes zeroed in on Bastila’s face.  “Ah—“

“So what did you want, Carth?” Mission asked hurriedly.

His eyes reluctantly left the smudge marring Bastila’s face, and he turned, distracted, to look at Mission.  “Uh... what?”

“Want?  Here?  Talk?” she prompted.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, snapping out of it.  “I think I know what’s going on with the emergency lights.”

Mission sighed to herself. _He’s going  on about the emergency lights.  Again._

“What does that have to do with anything here?” asked Bastila, echoing in much more mild tones what was going through Mission’s mind.

But Carth reacted defensively (Bastila tended to have that effect on people).  “Hey, it’s my job to make sure this ship is as safe as possible,” he pointed out.

“I never said it wasn’t,” Bastila demurred.

“I’ve been through a lot in my time in the Navy, and you can never be too prepared for emergencies,” he continued.

“Indeed,” she said.  “But don’t you think the amount of time and energy you’ve expended on this one issue may very well have not been justified by the seriousness of it?”

Mission got the sense that the two of them were slipping into the familiar trappings of a long-standing debate.  Her own predicament momentarily forgotten, she settled down to watch the show.

“I don’t need to analyze things to death before acting,” Carth replied pointedly.

Bastila ignored the barb.  “A little foresight is conducive to allowing one to appropriately scale responses to issues,” she explained crisply.  “In particular, it can help one allocate scare resources effectively and identify which problems require immediate attention, and which can be deferred as unimportant or superficial.”

“Superficial?”

Bastila nodded.

“The very antithesis of the Jedi?”

She nodded again.

“Yes... I can see that.  Quite clearly, as a matter of fact.”

Bastila’s eyebrows furrowed.

“So why exactly are you here again?” Mission asked hurriedly, before Bastila had too much time to ponder Carth’s reply.

He shook himself out of confrontation mode.  “Mission,” he said, looking at her seriously, “your pet gizka is chewing through some wires and shorting the emergency lights.”

Now it was Mission’s turn to get defensive.

“Princess? She wouldn't do that! Do you actually have the evidence?”

“I found bits of plastic sheathing throughout her nest,” he said.

“What?  You call that evidence?  That—that could have come from anywhere!”

“Oh, that's even better!” he shot back.  “Gizka chewing into who-knows-what somewhere aboard this ship.”

“She’s just one little gizka, and she’s just curious about all that wiring,” Mission protested.  “Surely a little nibble here or there won’t hurt anything.”

“A little nibble here, a little nibble there... and suddenly the hyperdrive is offline.”

“I told Enosh those gizka could cause us trouble,” Bastila added.

Mission turned on the Jedi.  “You just don’t like her because of that stupid lightsaber thing.”

Bastila was shocked at Mission’s attack.  “That—that ‘stupid lightsaber thing’ nearly resulted in the destruction of my most cherished item,” Bastila replied, affronted.

“But it wasn’t Princess’s fault!  _You_ overreacted!”

“Overreacted?  Overreacted?  They were _stealing_ my disassembled lightsaber!” she said indignantly.

“You just scared them!  If you’d given me the chance to calm them down, instead of haring off after them like that, none of that other stuff would have happened!”

Perhaps sensing that things were starting to get too hot, Carth forced his way between the two of them.  “Mission,” he said firmly, facing the Twi’lek, “you need to train Princess to stay away from those wires.  She’s been lucky so far, but she could very well end up accidentally shocking herself.”

Mission’s anger cooled as Carth’s words sank in.  _He’s right._

She let out one last, angry breath.  “Okay.  Okay, you’re right, Carth.  I’ll do something about it.”

“Good.”

As Carth went back to the doorway, Mission glanced at Bastila.  The Jedi was doing her best to regain her composure, eyeing the Twi’lek coolly.

“Are you going to--?”

“Perhaps I was—“

Awkward silence.

“That’s more like it,” Carth said, glancing between the two of them.  “And speaking of  Princess,” he added, and Mission saw a slight grin emerge on his face as he turned to look at her, “don’t you think you should take better care of her, Mission?”

“What—what are you talking about?”

He glanced at Bastila.  As was her habit when she felt uncomfortable in the presence of others, she was paying only slight attention, instead absorbed in fidgeting with the stiff collar of her robes.  He looked back at the Twi’lek.  “Have you seen her recently?  She looks absolutely _horrific_!”

“What?  Oh... oh, you mean _that_... that blemish.  Nothing, it’s—it’s nothing, hardly noticeable!”

“Hardly noticeable?” asked Carth incredulously.  “You can see it from a klick away!”

She _really_ wanted to throttle him at that moment. _You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?_

“You’re exaggerating, Carth,” Mission said firmly, trying to give the words enough weight to rope around his neck and squeeze that grin off of his face.  “Besides, she’s a big girl now. She can take a bath by herself.  Who am I, her mother?”

“But as the responsible—“

“I didn’t do anything!”  Well, perhaps _technically_ she had, but Juhani shared at least _some_ of the blame for choosing that particular moment in time to knock on the door.  And Bastila, of course.  Ultimately, it was _her_ fault for riling Mission up enough to cut short her lekku soaking in the first place.

“Just throw her in a tub of water.”

Carth and Mission both paused, in surprise, at Bastila’s words.

“What—what was that?” Mission asked.

Apparently back to her normal analytical self, the Jedi repeated herself.  “I said, ‘Just throw her in a tub of water.’  Really, it isn’t all that complicated,” she said dismissively.

“I... I think she’d be rather upset by that,” Mission ventured.  “She’s kind of... finicky that way.”

“ _That’s_ an understatement,” Carth added.

“Fine.  Then ask Juhani to put a Sleep on her,” Bastila suggested.  “Then Carth can hold her down while you scrub her clean.  Use a wire brush through all that hair, to ensure that afterwards she is spotless.”

“Hold her down?” repeated Mission, trying hard not to burst out in giggles at the thought of Carth pinning Bastila to the floor.

“A—a wire brush through all that hair?” Carth asked, obviously fighting hard himself to keep from laughing.

“But that would be cruel,” Mission added, sharing a glance with Carth, daring him to start laughing first.  “She loves her hair.”

“You heard the Jedi,” he replied with a slight shrug.  “They don’t call them the Protectors of the Republic for nothing, you know.”

“Oh, she’s obviously quite resilient,” Bastila continued.  “Quite the fighter.  Have you seen how she intimidates the others?”

“So you’ve noticed, too?” Carth asked.

“I thought it was just me,” Mission said.

“It may be humiliating at first for her, but I’m sure she’d soon forget the incident,” Bastila opined.

Carth shook his head.  “She never forgets.  _Never_.”

“And if not, just do whatever silly little things you normally do to appease her.  Let her gorge herself at her food, tickle her hairy little belly, give her a good brush down, and then send her off to bed, content and happy.  Whatever, Mission, she _is_ your pet, after all.”

This was too much for Carth.  “That’s it,” he said, struggling to control himself.  “I—I really have to go.”

“Don’t tell anyone... I mean, _Princess_ , about this!” Mission warned.

Unable to speak, Carth just waved a hand in acknowledgment as he left.

* * *

“What is it with everyone today?” Bastila asked, as the door closed behind Carth.  “First Juhani, and now Carth.”

“Perhaps it was something in the food tonight,” Mission offered, trying to tamp down the giggles that threatened to overwhelm her.  _Just how ‘hairy’ is Bastila’s tummy, anyway?_

But the Jedi didn’t even acknowledge Mission’s statement.  Instead, Bastila’s eyes were distant, as she tapped at her chin with a finger.  The Twi’lek could almost see her brain cells firing.

A spark of worry flared within her, and the fit of giggles inside her shriveled up and faded away.

Decision apparently made, Bastila turned to look at Mission.

“Yes?” the Twi’lek asked, tentatively.

The Jedi said nothing.  She continued looking at her... a little too closely...

_Oh no!  Is my makeup messed up?_

_..._

_Hey...waitaminute..._

“What are you doing, Bastila?”  Her voice sounded a little too strained to her ears.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, her voice low, soothing, lulling.  Her gray eyes were large, pulling in Misison’s own like magnets.

“You’re---you’re trying to read my mind!” gasped Mission.

“Nonsense,” Bastila said coolly.  “Why would I bother trying to read the mind of a fourteen-year-old Twi'lek?”

“That—that wasn't a denial; that was a question!” Mission yelped, hurriedly tossing images about haphazardly in her head, as if she were rummaging around through the junkyards of the Lower City.  “You and your Jedi verbal twistiness!”

Bastila’s eyes sharpened as she ran into the hurricane of Mission’s random thoughts.  “Just relax, Mission,” she soothed.

“I will _not_ relax! You stay out of my mind! Whatever happened to privacy around here?”

“I'm just trying to figure out what's going on,” Bastila said, in a reasonable tone of voice, taking a step toward her.

Mission backed away.  “And _this_ is your idea of doing that?  Whatever happened to, you know, just _asking_?”

“Fine.  Mission, what is going on around here?  Why were Juhani and Carth acting so strangely?”

“I don’t know.  Why are you asking me?”

Bastila scowled, and took another step.  “Mission, if you...just stopped being so... _evasive_ , I wouldn't have to resort to this!”

“Evasive?” Mission asked, backing up.  “What gives you the right to meddle in other people's business?”

“I _am_ a Jedi--it kind of is expected in the job description.  And why are you so upset by this, anyway?  Why, just the other day, you asked me to mind-read Princess for you.”

“That—that was _different_!  She was moping around and I was just trying to find out if she was sick or something!  Not violate her privacy to discover her deepest, darkest secrets or something.  _And_ you said no!”

“So you _are_ hiding something.  Come now, Mission, we’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

As Bastila advanced again, Mission backed up.

She backed into the edge of her bunk, and the unexpected impact sent her tumbling backward onto her bed.  Her outflung arms, wheeling wildly in the air, smacked onto the edge of the pan.

With a crash, the pan clattered onto the bed, water hurled everywhere by the force of Mission’s elbow.

The tepid rain showered all over Mission.

And a gigantic deluge of cold water crashed onto Bastila’s head.

Bastila gasped as the water drenched her head. Her hair lay plastered all over her face, rivulets of water running down.

“I’m... I’m SO sorry!” Mission said, quickly grabbing up a towel and rushing to the spluttering Jedi’s side.

Shocked, Bastila just stood there, buffeted by Mission’s towel as the Twi’lek dabbed at the water all over her face.

“Let me... let me just get this _one_ spot... right there on the corner of your mouth...”

* * *

Enosh stumbled.

“What is it?” Jolee asked from behind, and Enosh felt Jolee’s hands grab his shoulder. “What happened?”

“I... I felt a disturbance in the Force,” he said, straightening gradually.

Jolee closed his eyes and concentrated.  “I feel nothing out of the ordinary. Are you sure...?”

They heard a door slam open, and turned to see a wide-eyed Mission come hurtling through the corridor, fleeing as if the entire Sith Empire was on her heels.

With nary a glance at them, the nimble Twi’lek swiftly snaked between the two and plunged into another corridor.

“What in the Galaxy was _that_ all about?” Jolee asked.

Down that corridor, they saw Canderous’s head pop out from the doorway to the workshop, staring down the way Mission had fled.  The Mandalorian turned to trade a puzzled glance with them, then shrugged and disappeared back into the workshop.

“I don't know,” Enosh replied, looking down the corridor Mission had fled from so precipitously, “but I've got a bad feeling about this.”

“ _MISSION!_ ” came an all too familiar voice from down the corridor.

Enosh and Jolee traded looks.

“A bad feeling, indeed.”  Enosh swallowed.  “I... I guess I should go see—“

Jolee just nodded.  “Be strong, son,” he said, gripping Enosh’s shoulder tightly.  “Be strong.  I’ll remember you always.”  


THE END


End file.
